Blythe
Ohmigosh, ohmigosh, ohmigosh!
What was Walker Thomas doing in my backyard?! And why, after not seeing him for three years, did I have to look like a homeless person?
“Blythe! Look who’s come back! Mr. Thomas bought his share back from Mr. Lewis last month.” I yanked my gaze away from Walker to stare at my mom who was smiling so big I could see all her teeth. Her eyes sparkled with excitement as she wrapped her arm around an equally smiley Mrs. Thomas.
The Thomas’s were moving back? I quickly scanned the rest of the group in the backyard. My whole family was there as well as the Thomas’s. Walker. His parents, Roger and Becky. As well as his brothers, Pete and Leo. Sure enough, the gang was all there.
“What?” I was still trying to process, my brain fuzzy from shock.
“Ew, Blythe, you smell funny.” Joy brushed past me, pinching her nose between her thumb and forefinger as she practically shouted her distaste.
“Joy!” I hissed, my already red cheeks flaming even brighter as I reached up to self-consciously smooth my fly-away hair. It was no use. Joy was right. I smelled terrible. And worse than that, I looked terrible.
Breathing deeply to keep myself from strangling my sister, I snuck a quick glance at Walker. He was still watching me, an amused smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Golly, he was hot! He’d been cute three years ago at fourteen, but now? Sheesh, seventeen looked really, really good on him.
Ugh. I glanced down at my paint streaked cut-offs and sighed. What did it matter, anyway? Invisible, remember? I’d been invisible to Walker all those years our fathers worked together, why would I think I’d be anything more than invisible now?
“Blythe, it’s so good to see you again!” Becky moved to give me a hug.
“Oh my gosh, Becky, I’m totally gross from babysitting,” I held her to a side hug, unwilling to allow her any closer. “It’s good to see you, too. When did you guys get back?”
Becky smiled. “We arrived last week, but we stayed with Roger’s parents up until last night.” Becky glanced at my mom, her smile turning into an excited grin.
“Blythe, Becky and Roger bought the Hansen’s house. Isn’t that exciting?” Apparently, it was, because my mom and Becky were about to freaking burst.
The Hansen’s house? I wanted to drop my head in my hands and cry. The Thomas’s had moved into the house directly behind ours! We practically shared backyards, the only thing separating our property from the Hansen’s, or well, the Thomas’s, was a low hedge of dense bushes. My very own bedroom window stared directly into the back of their house.
I glanced between my mom and Becky, finally noticing their expectant expressions. I forced what I hoped looked like an enthusiastic smile to my face. “Wow, that is exciting.”
“Is that Blythe?” Roger, Walker’s dad, boomed from his position beside my dad at the grill.
I turned toward him and offered a weak smile. I really liked Roger. When they lived here before, Roger and Becky were as close to us as our aunts and uncles.
“Woo-ee, aren’t you a doll,” Roger teased with a wink as he started toward me, his arm extended. I met him halfway and allowed another side hug.
“How are you doing, Roger,” I asked, genuinely glad to see him again. He smelled familiar, like cigars and spicy cologne.
“Better now that we’re back home with our family. Ain’t that right, Beck?” Roger called out to his wife, who was chatting animatedly with my mom. Becky glanced over and winked.
“Hey, Dad.” I moved over to stand by my dad as he flipped burgers on the grill.
“How was the last day, sweetie?” Dad asked softly, nudging me with his elbow. Everyone else had fallen into their own conversations. Roger, teasing my sisters while Walker and his brothers kicked around a soccer ball at the back of the yard.
Sighing, I folded my arms across my stomach, still feeling incredibly self-conscious. “Good. I’m glad it’s over. It was fine, but, yeah, I’m glad I’m done.”
Dad nodded. “I get that. You’ve worked hard all summer, you deserve a little break before school starts.”
I pulled at my cami, which clung to my sticky skin. “Dad, I’m going to go take a shower real quick, okay.”
Dad smiled and gave me a quick wink before glancing over where Walker kicked the soccer ball away from his eleven-year-old brother, Pete. “You do that.”
I rolled my eyes and started for the back door of the house.
“Don’t take too long, Blythe. The burgers will be done in a few minutes.” Dad called out, effectively drawing everyone’s attention to my escape.
Thanks, Dad.
I just waved over my shoulder and made a break for it, beyond anxious to get cleaned up and wishing with all my heart I’d come in the front door instead of heading straight to the backyard upon returning home. I pulled out my phone and sent a quick text.
Me: You are not going to believe this!
Lilly: Ooh! Ooh! What?
Me: Guess who is in my backyard right this second?
Lilly: Chris Hemsworth!
Lilly: Shawn Mendez!
Lilly: A Jonas brother? Any of them!
Me: LOL! No!
Lilly: Ok. I give up then. Who?
Me: Walker Thomas!
Lilly: Walker Thomas?!
Lilly: THE Walker Thomas that you’ve had a secret crush on since first grade! THAT Walker Thomas?
Lilly: Why?!
Me: For dinner. They just moved back. And guess where they live?
Lilly: I can’t even.
Me: The Hansen’s house. He practically lives in our backyard!
Lilly: You have got to be kidding me! Are you serious?
Me: I couldn’t make this up if I tried.
After a quick shower, I dressed in a pair of navy capris and a white peasant top. I brushed the wet tangles from my hair, deciding it was too hot to blow dry it even in the air conditioning. Besides, I really didn’t have time. I knew my family wouldn’t start dinner without everyone present and I didn’t want to hold everything up. So, with a quick swipe over my lashes with mascara and a layer of gloss on my lips, I made my way back outside.
I was right. When I opened the back door, I saw that everyone had gathered around the picnic table filled with all kinds of cookout fixings. And they were waiting on me.
“Sorry everybody!” I called out as I made my way down the steps.
“There you are,” Dad said, motioning toward me. “Okay, let’s get this party going. First, I’d like to welcome the Thomas family back to Indiana and especially back to Richardson and Thomas, CPA Firm. I can’t tell you how happy I am to have you back, Rog,” Dad paused to smile and shake Roger’s hand. “I know Claire is just tickled to have Becky as our new neighbor and now our kids can play together, just like they used to.” Dad paused again, his gaze encompassing all of us, a satisfied smile on his face like all was right with his world. “Now enough of that. Let’s eat!”
Everyone laughed when a very bored looking Joy cried out, “Finally!”
We filled our plates amid laughter and catching up. I barely noticed what I put on my plate as I tried to avoid staring at Walker. The adults sat down at a glass topped patio table while the little kids sat at the picnic table. I opted for the back steps, far, far away from my siblings. Watching through my lashes as Walker dug a pop out of a cooler by the picnic table. He glanced at the kids, already laughing about farts and boogers. Eyes wide with a hell, no look about them, Walker turned to where I sat on the steps. A little smile turned his lips up.
He slid his pop can into a pocket on his cargo shorts and made his way over to me. I slid to one side to make room for him.
“You aren’t even going to say hi to me, Bly,” he asked, as he settled in beside me, close enough the hairs on his arms tickled my elbow. I inched away, hoping he thought I was just trying to give him more room. Oh my gosh, he smelled good!
I glanced at him, rolling my eyes and trying to play it cool. “Hi.”
Walker laughed and took a huge bite of his cheeseburger. My hand stopped halfway to my mouth with my own burger as I watched the muscles of his jaw work as he chewed, entranced. He even made chewing hot.
Walker glanced at me and paused mid-bite. He raised a brow in question and I realized I was staring at him.
With my mouth open.
I quickly looked away and stuffed my face with my hamburger.
Walker
Oh, wow. She was just as adorable as I remembered. It had taken all my restraint to not laugh out loud at the expression on her face when she noticed me earlier, when she first walked into her backyard. Her cheeks turned ten shades of red before landing on green. It was hilarious. She was hilarious. It all came rushing back to me, all the fun we’d had as little kids. How much I liked hanging out with Blythe. I had a feeling I was going to enjoy it now just as much as I had before my Dad picked us up and moved us across the country.
I couldn’t believe it when he’d dropped the bomb on us last month that we were moving again and I would be finishing out my senior year of high school in the same school district I’d started kindergarten as a kid. I should have been upset considering I’d been at the high school in California since my freshman year, but I wasn’t. All my best memories were here in Indiana and I planned to come back for college anyway. It seemed like a win-win to me.
I glanced out the corner of my eye at Blythe, who after staring at me like a lunatic, was now studiously avoiding eye contact. I fought back a grin. She was just so cute.
“So, babysitting, huh?” I asked before taking another bite of my burger. Blythe nodded and chewed faster, her eyes widening. She swallowed hard, her throat convulsing. I tried not to snort.
“Yeah, all summer. Three little boys,” she croaked then cleared her throat. I watched with amusement as she picked up her pop and took a big gulp.
“Three boys, huh?” Lucky little turds. I never had any babysitters that looked like Blythe growing up. And she was fun, too. She probably played games with them rather than messing around on her phone all day.
Blythe rolled her eyes. “Yes, three. And man, are they a handful.”
“Oh, yeah. What’s the craziest thing they did this summer?” Being a guy and having two brothers myself, I knew what kind of trouble little boys could get into.
“Wow, I’m not sure I could narrow it down to one thing.” Her brows pulled down as she thought about it, crinkling her forehead and making me smile.
“Okay, well, then just something crazy they did today.”
Her eyes twinkled with the memory she was about to share. “So, you know kebabs, right? Those skewers you usually cook meat on?”
“Sure.” I nodded and began working on the potato salad. Mrs. Richardson makes the best!
“Well, I saw this idea online to make a rainbow kebab with fruit. You know, red strawberries, orange was cantaloupe,” she stopped and grinned at me from under her lashes. “You get the idea.”
“I get it.”
“Well, I pictured in my head that I’d set out the fruit and give them a skewer and they’d very nicely line up the colors and I’d take a picture of our beautiful kebabs, right?”
“Right.” But I could feel the laughter already building, because there is no way three little boys didn’t wreck her whole crafty food idea.
“Wrong. So very, very wrong. Instead, a fruit battle ensued.” She pulled her cell phone from her pocket and swiped until she got to her photos. “Check this out.” She leaned into my shoulder, making me suddenly very aware of her. She smelled like strawberries. I focused on the picture on her phone. She was right, it looked like a war zone. A very colorful war zone. She scrolled through three or four pictures and then stopped on a picture of three boys and her. They were all covered in fruit. But they were smiling.
“Looks like they had fun.” I turned my head. My nose was just inches from her dark hair.
She breathed a laugh. “Yeah, I think they did.” She turned to look up at me and gasped, realizing how close we’d become. I watched as her eyelids closed slowly over her golden-green eyes. And then she sat back, inhaling a quick breath. She clicked her phone off and stuck it back in her pocket. All business. “I’m glad I’m done, though.”
I turned back to my potato salad. “What are your plans, now? Aren’t there still two weeks before school starts?”
She shook her head and shrugged her shoulders a little. “Not sure. Sleep in. Catch up on Netflix.”
I laughed. “Sounds fun.”
Suddenly, Blythe’s dad clapped his hands. “Alright, everybody. We have an announcement to make.”
All four adults were grinning like maniacs and it made me nervous. What did they have planned now? Wasn’t it enough that we moved thousands of miles?
Blythe’s little sister, Joy, bounced around her father’s legs. “What is it, Daddy? What is it?”
David Richardson laughed and patted her on the head. “Well, sweetheart, I’ll tell you. We-” he paused for effect, his gaze resting on each of us before he continued, “are going to the beach!”
Wait. What?
“What?”
I glanced at Blythe when I heard her voice the very question running through my head. She turned to me.
“The beach? Where?”
I shrugged and turned back to our parents who were struggling against the swarm of little bodies surrounding them.
“Okay, okay!” Blythe’s dad called out with an indulgent smile. “Rog, you want to tell them?”
“You bet, Dave.” My dad bent down, resting his hands on his thighs above his knees putting him closer to Joy’s excited pixie face. “We, the Richardson and Thomas families are going to Cape Hatteras!”
The kids erupted into cheering and dancing. Blythe and I looked to each other.
“Where the heck is Cape Hatteras?” I asked.
Blythe shrugged and pulled her cell phone out of her pocket once more, presumably to Google Cape Hatteras. I figured it was a good idea and dug mine out of my shorts pocket.
“Cape Hatteras is made up of three islands. Hatteras, Bodie, and Ocracoke in the Atlantic Ocean off the coast of North Carolina.” Blythe looked up from her phone. “North Carolina?”
“Oh, no,” I groaned. “How long of a drive is that?” Because I’m pretty sure I just spent a week in a vehicle with my brothers. I opened the maps app on my phone and plotted the route. “Holy shit!”
Blythe’s eyes widened. “What?”
I turned to face her, my expression grim. “It’s like a twelve-hour drive.”
“And we leave in the morning!” My dad shouted above the fray.
“Holy-,” Blythe paused to glance at me, “crap.”
See what I mean? Adorable.
*Keep reading for sample of Chasing Paris
Chasing Paris (now available on Amazon)
Chapter One
Paris
Fifty-eight. Fifty-nine. Walk two minutes. You’re doing great!
Stupid motivator. Even on the lowest setting, the perky voice with the fake accent coming through my headphones was irritating. Almost as irritating as how out of shape I am. Seriously, one minute of running feels like a marathon. I half expected a crowd of cheering fans to be waiting at the end of my one-hundred-yard run, a paper ribbon strung across the black track for me to break with my humongous boobs. Okay, they aren’t that big, but after one hundred yards of them bouncing violently with each step, I kinda wish I was an A rather than a large C.
My chest wasn’t the only part of my body bouncing, either. When did my thighs get so big? And I was so not happy about the muffin top overflowing around the waistband of my stretchy yoga pants. I won’t even mention the state of my hiney.
Run one minute. You can do it!
No, no, no! How did two minutes go so fast? I picked up my pace, but only slightly. I was so out of shape my run was just a step below a jog and even then, my calves were burning and my butt cheeks feel like I’d just done one hundred yards of lunges. Not that I knew what one hundred yards of lunges felt like- but I could imagine!
Thirty seconds left. My lungs were burning. Breathe, Paris, breathe. It was like my body was staging a mutiny after so many years of inactivity. I could imagine my heart and lungs and every muscle in my body throwing in the towel, wiping their hands of this crazy idea of mine to ‘get in shape’. Where ‘get in shape’ was a euphemism for ‘fit into a bridesmaid dress for my brother’s wedding in two months’. The one my mother intentionally ordered two sizes too small.
Walk two minutes. Keep it up!
Thank goodness! Sucking air in through my nose and blowing out my mouth, I prayed I wouldn’t faint on the high school track. It was almost dusk and I was here alone, just like I planned. My previous recon missions have informed me that coming to the track at any other time of the day will mean ‘running’ with super fit people. If I wanted to do that I’d get a gym membership. The only problem with this choice was now if I fainted, I was on my own.
Add to that- my feet hurt after a long day of work at the bakery. The bakery. I blame the ten pounds I need to lose on the bakery I own. I mean, have you ever met a skinny baker? No. I didn’t think so. The bakery was also part of the reason I didn’t exercise in the morning. I already got up before the crack of dawn to get everything baked fresh for the day, there was no way I was waking up at two o’clock in the morning to exercise, my mother or not.
Run one minute thirty seconds. You got this!
At least no one was around to hear me groan at this announcement. I wish I knew who this chick was so I could punch her in the face. One minute and thirty seconds? Didn’t she know I could barely make it for thirty seconds? Seriously, one minute was pushing it, another thirty seconds might be enough to send me into cardiac arrest.
Okay, Paris, focus.
It was usually at this point in my work out that I began cursing my mother and the universe that blessed her with a high metabolism and endless self-control and cursed me with a passion for sugar in all its many forms. This wouldn’t be a problem except for the endless disappointed looks in my direction whenever I happened to cross my mother’s path. Which I’ll admit occurred less and less even though I’ve just moved back to my hometown and opened a bakery.
When I left my hometown of Watson, Georgia after graduating from this very high school, it had been with the sole purpose of escaping my mother and her perfection complex. I was desperate to get away from the endless criticism I’d endured all my childhood and adolescence. My mother’s strident voice still echoed in my ear every time I picked up a cream puff. Paris, don’t eat that, you’ll get fat. Paris, stand up straight. Paris, don’t lean. Paris, don’t you want to be thin like the other girls?
The day I told her I was leaving home to attend a culinary school in New York had been the most nerve wracking, and the most liberating, day of my life. I packed everything I owned in the little Toyota Tercel I bought with money earned over two years working part time at Panera Bread and never looked back.
Between working at Panera and spending all my free-time trying out recipes from Pinterest, the decision to become a pastry chef had been an easy one. I love to bake. Unfortunately, the two-year pastry arts degree had cost a small fortune. Thankfully, my grandmother on my dad’s side loved me even though I was a size- well, let’s just say I wasn’t a four, six, or eight and leave it at that- and thought becoming a pastry chef was a brilliant plan. She chipped in for more than half my tuition and I covered the rest with loans, grants, and scholarships.
Walk two minutes. You’re almost there!
Oh, I’m light-headed. Feel the burn, Paris. Man, I thought this was supposed to get easier over time. This program says I should be moving on to longer run times with shorter walks, but I’ve been doing the very first workout every day for two weeks and I still felt like I was going to die of a heart attack. I couldn’t even imagine upping my times. How do people do it?
I mean, seriously, I sit every Monday morning, eating an orange scone washed down with a large glass of whole milk and scroll through my Facebook feed, reading post after post about the different 5k’s people ran over the weekend. The color run. The mud run. The CrossFit challenge run. Run. Run. Run. Like, it’s all they ever do. And in every picture, they stand, sweaty and smiling, arms thrown around other equally sweaty and smiling weirdos. How do they always look so happy? I just don’t get it. And now here I was, desperate to shed a few measly pounds for the sake of my health- because let’s face it my mother would kill me if I didn’t fit into that dress- running like an idiot. No smiling, although there was a lot of sweat, and I couldn’t even run one complete lap around the track. It’s bull crap!
Two one-minute runs and a five-minute cool down later, I finally made my way through the opening in the fence surrounding the track and toward my car. I’ve upgraded from my Tercel to a Corolla. It’s not new but it’s in better shape and has less miles than the Tercel. Plus, due to a large Christmas bonus from the fancy restaurant I worked at in New York, it’s paid for.
Tossing my phone onto the passenger seat, I slid into the driver’s seat, my muscles screaming Hallelujah! all the way. I reached for my water bottle and took a long draw of the cool liquid, wishing with all my heart the aluminum container held Dr. Pepper and not water. But Dr. Pepper is not going to help me lose ten pounds, so I was determined to just be thankful my ice hadn’t melted all the way, leaving me with ninety-degree water.
Oh, no! I so do not need this right now!
Throwing open the door, I skirted around to the front of my car.
“You have got to be kidding me!” I groaned, tempted to curl up on the hood of my car and cry. My front right tire was completely flat. I must have run over a nail or some glass on my way to the high school. Shoulders slumped, I stared at the deep lavender sky above. It was dark enough that I could see several stars twinkling. While there was quite a bit of traffic on the road in front of the school, I was by myself in the parking lot. Maybe I should call my brother to come help me. But he lives almost an hour away and that’s just ridiculous.
“Don’t be such a dumb girl, Paris,” I scolded myself. Taking a deep breath, I reached through the driver’s side window and popped open the trunk.
“Ugh. It just gets better and better,” I grumbled, taking in the state of my trunk, overflowing with supplies for the bakery. Growling with irritation, I began unloading the boxes into the backseat of my car.
It took forever. The boxes were small and I could only shuffle a couple of them at a time from the trunk to the backseat. I’d planned to unload them onto a cart in the morning once I made it to the bakery, so I didn’t pack them in a more efficient container. Dang. By the time I unloaded the trunk, it was dark and the lights in the parking lot had blinked on.
“Well, crap.”
With the jack in my hand, I stood beside the flat tire. There was hardly enough light from the nearest lamp to make out the outline of the black tire. The jack clanged on the ground where I dropped it so I could retrieve my phone and turn on the flashlight app.
“Hey, do you need some help?”
Aaron
“See you after my run,” I said into my phone before touching the red button to disconnect the call with my buddy, Jace Thomas. Jace hates running on the track and refuses to come with me to the high school. It’s the only part of our workout we didn’t do together. But I liked running on the track. I never have to worry about obstacles or distractions. It’s just me, my music, and the oval blacktop.
After plugging my headphones into my ears, I tuned up the new Imagine Dragons album. The music immediately got my blood pumping, my body reacting to the beat like Pavlov’s dog. With my hands braced on my truck, I stretched my calves and hamstrings. Thanks to my military training, my eyes instinctively scanned the land surrounding the high school. Survey. Assess. React. Even after four years, my body and mind refused to relax.
I usually parked my truck on the far side of the track, away from the parking lot. I preferred the isolation of the gravel service road running behind the football field. I always parked under a light, but felt reassured by the lack of traffic.
Kicking my heel back, I grabbed it and pulled, stretching my quads. Rolling my neck from side to side, I surveyed the parking lot. One vehicle sat, parked right in the center, trunk open. A woman walked around to put something into the back seat. Curious, I dropped my foot to the ground and began walking toward the track, my eyes trained on the woman who returned to the trunk and collected more items to store in the backseat.
The high school parking lot seemed a strange place to play shuffle-the-stuff, but what do I know. Invested now, I couldn’t seem to take my eyes off the woman. Jogging slowly from the far side of the oval, I made my way down the straightaway and around the curve, every step brought me closer. Even from a distance and with the little bit of light coming from a lamp not too far from her, I could tell she had some sweet curves, an hourglass figure that had my eyes traveling the length of her more than once. She wore tight, black, calf-length running pants and a fitted lime green tee.
As I began to round the second curve, I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep an eye on her if I kept going, so I slowed to a walk. And like a stalker, headed toward the fence, watching her long ponytail swing from side to side with each sway of her hips. Dang. I could watch this woman shuffle packages from her trunk to her backseat all day.
Wisps of her hair, red- dark red, fluttered around her face. Her profile revealed high cheekbones, pouty lips, and a cute upturned little nose. And all I could think, was I hope she wasn’t married because I couldn’t force myself to stop checking her out.
She walked back to the trunk, lifted the bottom out before reaching in to pull out the spare. Well, that makes sense. Glancing at her vehicle, I noticed it was a little lopsided.
Wow, Aaron.
Talk about being distracted. Changing course, I moved to exit the track and started toward her, absurdly excited that she had a flat tire, giving me an excuse to approach her. Vaguely aware that I was gawking at her like a horny teenager, I made my way to her car and asked, “Hey, do you need some help?”